


Keepsakes

by haloneshiral



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Death, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Loss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-01 21:05:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16291802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haloneshiral/pseuds/haloneshiral
Summary: The loss  was felt throughout Skyhold. Letheia had never faltered in her duty to the Inquisition. Now they rally to her side, in her time of need.





	1. Da'len

_Da’len,_

Letheia’s eyes stung at once when she read the word. A single word. It was not as though she did not know what had been writ; Leliana read the entire letter aloud at the war table before. But hearing it read in a voice and manner so different from the keeper’s made it hard to absorb. As she stared at the page, she could hear the precise note the keeper would use to call out to her.

_Da’len,_

It was written in Keeper Deshanna’s all-too-familiar hand. Letheia’s eyelids fluttered and batted away, hoping to ward off the tears. They still came.

For the first time, she felt the crushing homesickness swallow her whole. There had been no time to miss them– no time to  _feel._ Not while the Breach threatened to unmake the world with its gaping green maw in the sky. It all seemed an impossible haze, separate from the idyllic life she had known. She physically stumbled out of the Fade, right into the matters of the  _shemlen_  for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Her hand bore a mark that became a symbol of their hope. They named her the herald of their Andraste, and she walked a future twisted by an unfathomable darkness. They named her their Inquisitor, their beacon, when she buried a village in snow to save them– and  _survived_ despite the odds. Even with the horrific images seared into her mind, and some of the scars still etched on her skin, it was difficult to believe.

It had been accident upon accident, coincidence upon coincidence. And somehow they believed it had been divine providence. Would their Maker truly send a simple Dalish elf?  _Would her own gods have allowed it?_  The questions had burned in her nightly, away from scrutinizing gazes that measured her worth, when she was simply herself. Not ‘Her Worship’. Just Letheia Lavellan. The First to her clan.

And yet, she never resented them for it. She had forged some of the truest bonds with her new companions, felt things she never had, and learned of things beyond her ken. Skyhold  _was_  home, but not the one she yearns for in her dreams. It was not the picture her mind painted when the word would fall from her lips. Home was with the aravels and the halla amid the Marcher forests, with her family and friends always so close. There were plans and promises– she was to be  _keeper_. Once, it had been her  _only_  burden. And oh, how she carried it with pride and dignity. The world seemed to watch her every step then, when her world was her clan and the Dalish way of life. That was her life. The life that she  _was_ destined for. And now it  _wasn’t._ Nor could it ever be.

She swiped her tears away but it did nothing to stay the broken sobs that came. The thoughts she had stilled, the regrets she had quieted, all rushed in, one after the other. Letheia was immediately grateful for the privacy granted to her, and for her own sense to retreat to her quarters. She braced herself on the desk and fought to read the rest of it.

Perhaps once, reading the letter would have brought her relief. And for a while it did. Mythal willing, they were  _safe_. They had been so proud of her deeds. For them to willingly part such a generous portion of the season’s harvest was unthinkable, but they had done so. For her sake. 

She read the letter once more. Her ungloved fingers traced the dried ink, wet again with her tears. With the herbs long gone, it was all she had left of her clan.

For all the power she wielded, in influence and in the palm of her own hand, the Inquisitor had never felt more powerless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started off as a short one-shot but spiraled out of control <:^) I wanted an answer for why Letheia wouldn't go back to her clan after everything. A subsequent rerun of DA:I had me accidentally killing the clan even when I saved them the first time. I uh, made it canon. The problem is, Letheia adheres to her obligations completely, and would fully intend to return to her clan post-Trespasser to become keeper... and would go as far as break up with Cullen to do so. So now this fic exists.
> 
> Letheia's very composed and serious, meeting the Inquisition's expectations at every step to the best of her ability. Watching her fail to meet that expectations opens up a lot of opportunities to explore important relationships, and not just with Cullen. I want to ground Letheia as being real to the ordinary people of the Inquisition and create a stronger bond between her and them.


	2. Distance

The titles and prestige afforded to her were never a deterrent. As esteemed as she was by the Inquisition, Letheia was a common sight in the courtyards of Skyhold and spoke even to the least of them. That she mingled with the Commander’s recruits was not cause for alarm, but few would have thought the Herald of Andraste herself would deign to associate with the scullery maids, stablehands and gardeners. And yet she had. Her humility and compassion were often thought a mark of the Dalish leadership she had been groomed for, where communities were smaller. Closer-knit. Yet despite their number far exceeding that of a Dalish clan, and rivaling that of any army, a familiar figure clad in her signature white was oft a welcome sight amongst themselves.

It was no surprise then, that the Inquisitor’s absence following the previous war council was keenly felt. The brazier that had once warmed and lit their paths was extinguished; the unsettling chill crept to every corner of the fortress. It was less idle gossip and more concern that led the brave few to inquire after her wellbeing. Word of the Inquisitor’s loss then spread before long.

There was talk of Dalish burial rites or Andrastian elegies for the clan, though ultimately neither came to fruition. Not without her input. At some point, a makeshift grave was made (there was never an effort to find the individual responsible) at the foot of a young tree, once planted by the Inquisitor. Flowers were laid for the lost clan, among other tokens and offerings from different creeds. Though many wished to offer their condolences, none wished an intrusion upon the Herald’s privacy.

Letheia Lavellan hid away to mourn, and Skyhold mourned with her.

 

* * *

 

The abrupt dismissal of the council, and the haste with which the Inquisitor had exited the chamber, following the report on Clan Lavellan caught them all off-guard. The loss of her clan,  _her family_ , was understandably unbearable. But what one ought to do in such a situation was lost between them in the heat of the moment. Before any notions of comforting the Inquisitor were spoken by Josephine, Cullen had already surrendered to his impulse and the heavy door swung shut. His marked awareness for decorum was all but cast aside to give chase, appearances be damned.

He strode into the hall after the Inquisitor and called out to her increasingly distant figure.

“Inquisitor,”

_No, that was cold_. Far too impersonal. He closed his eyes at his blunder and tried again.

“Letheia,”

She stopped. Time froze and passed between them as they stood in the hall. Letheia turned her head slightly, but a curtain of snow-white hair obscured her features. He had barely begun to close the gap between them when she spoke again.

“I need a moment,” was all she mustered. And he could feel how she pleaded for him to let her walk away lest she came undone,  _unraveled_ at the seams that barely held her together. She pleaded underneath the half-hearted attempt to assume her usual manner, warm and open. But Cullen knew her. He could tell it rang hollow.

“If you need anything–“

“ _Commander.”_ It must have been  _wrong_  in her mouth because she shifted her weight from one heel to the other uneasily. She paused, then shed her own adherence to propriety. _“_ Cullen _, please,_ ”

Her breath shuddered lightly. She strained to keep her gaze fixed on the door before her.

The sight of it was more than enough. It rend his heart to be so helpless.

He let her go.

 

* * *

 

The days had not been kind to the Commander. When he had found himself wide awake at midnight, he let his work consume him, else his worries would. His countenance betrayed his exhaustion to anyone keen enough, though he had toiled with an unwavering vigor. The source of his restlessness was no secret in the barracks: The Inquisitor–  _Letheia_  had yet to emerge from her chambers.

He had not dared approach her, unsure of where he stood, of his place in all this. Was it too forward to reach out to her? He formed and fumbled the words he might say in case he had decided to knock on her door. None of them seemed right. And the last thing he wanted was to make her feel cornered when she had asked for some time. Josephine had seen to it that she was eating, at least. They would leave a tray of food at a small table on the landing of her steps, she said. He silently thanked her for it, as his thoughts shifted from the report he had just received.

Yet another Inquisition agent stood before him for the day. She regaled him with a detailed, routine report on the Hinterlands, noting that there were more than a few willing to aid the Inquisition’s efforts in some capacity.

_Some semblance of good news, at last._

The lingering silence that permeated the next part of her report forced him to look at the agent, who seemed taken aback somehow, as though he had said something.

Ah.  _Maker’s Breath._ He  _had_.  

“Apologies, continue,” With a wave of a hand, he motioned to his subordinate, eyes returning to the document. “Agent…”

The name attached to her rank flashed a familiar face in his mind. One that did not match hers. Cullen straightened up immediately and furrowed his brow, eyes darting back to her. “…Agent  _Hawke_ – are you…?”

_“_ Honoura Hawke, ser,” she offered with a salute. “No relation to the Champion.”

“Ah, right, of course,” he cleared his throat. “Carry on.”

The sudden intrusion of Caesia Hawke’s smug face in his thoughts was jarring, to say the least. Thankfully, the remainder of the report was delivered without further incident, and the agent had been dismissed.

After a few moments longer spent poring over the document, Cullen finally rose to his feet, only to be greeted by the same agent, still a few paces away from his desk. She had never left. At once he narrowed his eyes.

_“_ Commander? Ser? Um, I don’t mean to be nosy or anything, but, ah,” Honoura tread lightly, gauging the Commander’s reaction. “There’s been…  _talk.”_

“About…?” He quirked an eyebrow, arms crossed. This was about himself and the Inquisitor no doubt. He set the report on his table.

“About what happened with–… with the herald’s clan. And,” She strung her words together, hoping to dispel the misunderstanding that started to cloud over his expression. “My brother and I noticed, we haven’t seen her around much lately. Not singing in the tavern, or strolling in the gardens.”

His shoulders stiffened with his posture. Rumors were something he had armed himself for, and he found himself ready to chastise Agent Hawke for peddling gossip, but her concern seemed genuine and resonated with him. He sighed.

“We were just wondering if she was all right,” she fiddled with the buttons on her cuffs before remembering to keep her hands to her sides. “…Ser.”

He sucked in a breath, hand resting on the pommel of his sword. The Inquisitor’s absence was not only _his_  faceless distraction. The gloom cast over Skyhold was difficult to ignore when her usual radiance was nowhere to be found. Of course, they would notice. There were times he wondered if he had been more adamant about  _his_  course of action that it might have averted the tragedy. But he could not undo their fates, no matter how he willed it. No one could. But she deserved to grieve.

He turned to Honoura again and nodded. “Give her time, Agent. Maker watch over her, she will return to us.”

When she was granted leave (and actually left), he resumed his place behind the desk, plunging his quill into the inkwell.  

_Dear Letheia,_ he began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief cameo of my friend's oc (@honquisitor on tumblr) in this one!


	3. A Sealed Letter

The chambermaids had almost seemed apologetic for carrying out their duties as of late. A perceived disturbance– in  _their_ eyes at least. If only they had known how grateful Letheia was for their thoughtfulness and discretion. They neither pried nor prodded the Inquisitor, and maintained their distance in her mourning. A little  _too_ well, in fact. A brief knock and the careful creaking of the door to her chambers were all that announced their arrival. And then they were gone.

She had been inconsolable for the first day, and touched none of her meals. So the staff tended to her needs and had even brought her a bath to soak in. When she had finally gathered the strength to pull herself out of the worst of her anguish, she sought to thank them properly. Though, whenever she made the attempt, she would find only her meal sitting squarely on the ornate accent table (a gift from the Orlesian emissaries) at the bottom of the staircase and not a soul in sight.

She had expected no different that morning. The relative solace it seemed to offered her, however, was interrupted by an uncharacteristic  _repeated_ , distant rapping against the wood. From behind her desk, Letheia craned her neck, straining to listen for the distinct sound of the door creaking open, then shut. It never came. In its place, was a very faint  _fourth_ set of knocks.

Odd.

She unclasped her hands, withdrawing from prayer for the moment.

Her guest seemed torn on whether or not they wanted to draw her attention– too gentle to draw notice, but persistent enough that they anticipated a response. A new maid, possibly.

Letheia stepped from her desk and descended the steps lightly. There was a part of her that was afraid of alerting them to her presence. The last thing she wanted was to give them cause to scurry off before she could express her gratitude. She had even hoped to ask the favor of relaying the words to the kitchen staff below– if it were not too much to ask.

It was, then, a curious thing to see that there had already been a tray left for her. Her brows knit together. Had they forgotten to bring her something? Another fork perhaps? She never understood why she had ever needed more than one. Letheia set the thought aside and dusted her coat. She tried to capture how deeply her appreciation ran, wording and rewording her thanks as she opened the door.

And the words died on her lips instantly.

The Commander stood at her doorway, eyes as wide as her own and clutching an envelope in his hand. Her heart lurched at the sight of him. His face had been ragged by exhaustion, and his skin had taken a dull, pallid sheen.

“…Cullen?”

They had confided in each other a mutual affection not so long ago, and indulged in the other’s company with carefully measured yet equally genuine enthusiasm.

But their last conversation was… not a conversation at all. He had attempted to offer what comfort he could at the height of her distress and she rejected his words before he could finish them, devoured by her own grief. But what he had not deserved– not  _one_  bit– was the utter silence in the days that followed. She had sent no word, even when the storm in her heart had calmed. By all rights, it could have ended what was precious little there was between them. He had deserved better than to be shut out so readily. And yet there he was, at her door.

“I… Inquisitor,” he said, then winced as soon as he said it. “No–  _Maker_ ,  _I mean_ –… Letheia.  _Letheia._ ”

His weary expression lit up and softened at the sight of her. Sheepish that he had already bumbled at his first words to her in  _days_ , he ran a hand through his curls. Oh, how the warmth in her chest bloomed as a slow smile graced her lips. The way he said her name had always stirred something in her. His presence might not have dulled the pain of her loss, but it eased an ache in her heart she did not realize had been there at all.

“I had prepared–  _written_  something,” Cullen began, raising the sealed letter as a thought occurred to him. “Though… perhaps I could have simply left it at your door, instead of waiting for you to answer.”

“ _No_ , I… wouldn’t have seen you if you had,” Letheia replied softly. “…I’m glad you’re here.”

“As am I,” his voice dropped to match hers.

How she  _missed_  him. But her wounds were still so raw, and she  _was_  glad but it  _hurt_. There was so much to say, and yet so little of it could be anchored in words, so they held the silence that hung between them a moment longer.

Then in one fluid motion, he slipped the letter into one of his pockets.

Letheia tilted her head, taken out of the moment and suddenly uncertain of his intent.

“Was that not for…?”

“…For you. Well, yes. The original plan  _was_  to hand you the letter, but, now that I’m standing here, I thought I ought to make the most of it,“ he said, looking at his hands as he wrung them. "Mind you, the perfect words do not come to me as easily as they do others, but I might as well try.”

He wrung his hands because fought not to retrieve the letter, she realized.

Letheia watched as he gathered his thoughts, with one hand on the door, keeping it ajar. That he had attempted to navigate her situation so carefully made her heart wrench at her treatment of him. Though she knew he would not have blamed her, the guilt yet gripped her.

Amid her thoughts, he caught her free hand– a gesture she had not anticipated. Carefully and almost reverently, he brushed a gloved thumb over her own bare knuckles.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. "If I had better detailed how the troops could have aided them… I’m sorry.”

“ _No._ No, Cullen,  _I_  gave the command,” She wet her chapped lips, feeling her throat run achingly dry. The thought had not even crossed her mind. It was not his fault. She could not permit him to take any part of the blame.

“They were my clan. They  _wrote_  to me, sought  _me_ for help. And there I thought not to play favorites and expend our resources. I thought using our connection with Wycome would…  And I  _made_  that choice and…. I…. and  _now_ –”

The words spilled forth and came unbidden. Her pulse quickened. Her thoughts were a haze. Every shred of her lingering regrets began seeping out of her meticulously composed façade too quickly for her to verbalize. It wasn’t until she felt leather gently swipe against her cheeks that Letheia realized tears–  _her_ tears had been streaming down her face _._  Cullen hushed her gently, reassuringly, whispering soothing words and  _no, it wasn’t your fault_. He moved to closed the door to give her some well-deserved privacy.

She then sobbed, her hand pressed to his against her cheek.

 _“_ I miss them so terribly. I feel a hole in my heart, and I’m afraid it will never mend. How am I supposed to move on with this burden?”

For all the time she had known him, Letheia had neither wavered nor buckled underneath the weight of her responsibility. Even when that responsibility was all because she had somehow borne the key to seal the Breach. Even as she had grappled with the identity thrust upon her by mere circumstance. She had met their expectations with a composure worthy of her titles, all in the name of averting the direst of world-sundering threats.

“Tell me, how am I to act as the Inquisitor in this state?”

The price of being a symbol for too long was forgetting that she was not Andraste herself, but a mere herald. Not in the least bit divine.  It was not something she believed of herself. She was flesh and blood.  _Fragile_. Mortal and without the favor of any god, it seemed. No god would be so cruel to bestow upon her so much power, only to take away what she held most dear. There was only so much one person could bear.

Cullen cupped her face, thumbs brushing the tears away. He whispered her name soothingly over and over. Letheia _. Letheia._ She leaned into his touch, and sought the comfort he so willingly gave.

“You are not alone in this. Know that the Inquisition stands  _with_  you. You need not worry about the time you’ve spent grieving your loss.  _Grieve._  Because our men are doing their part, and until we know enough of what you’d seen at Redcliffe to reconvene the council, allow yourself this.”

“ _Allow_  yourself to feel,” he said, almost pleadingly. He tucked the loose strands strewn about her face behind her ear. He let his hands fall away, resting them on her shoulders. “And let us release you from other burdens.”

Letheia nodded, seeing reason in his words, and acknowledging the sentiment behind it. Grounded and sensible as ever, she thought. Dependable. Her boots clicked against the wood as she inched forward on instinct, tentatively at first. When she saw nothing but empathy and affection unfaltering in his expression, she moved forth and sank into an embrace. Cullen returned it with care, mindful of the heavy vambraces and pauldrons he wore, but he held her.

"I’m sorry,” she said, closing her eyes. The furs that draped over his shoulders bristled against her cheek.

“What for?“

"On the day of– … of the council. When I’d walked away from you–”

“No, don’t apologize for  _that_ ,” he said incredulously. He stopped, realizing how forceful it sounded. “What I mean is, that was…. you needed the time to yourself. You said as much then, so think nothing of it. Worry for yourself, just this once. You’ll need your strength. And until that time, I shall lend you mine, and the Inquisition, theirs.“

For a moment it seemed as though she had protests, but thought better of it. There was no quarrel to be had, and no forgiveness to ask. That much was clear. If she had any doubts about how she had felt about him, they were long gone.

“So… you wrote  _all that_ in that letter of yours?” she sniffled, with a hint of humor.

“No,” he half-chuckled into her hair, breath tickling her skin. She laughed with him.

“It didn’t quite go according to plan, either. But the spirit of it stands–” He pulled away from her to meet her gaze properly, looking into her embrium-bright eyes. “That I am with you.”

And the world that seemed to rest upon her shoulders was no longer solely hers to bear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The longest chapter so far. It was being pretty difficult and took me several days to nail ;;; Emotionally charged scenes are hard


	4. Friends

Letheia stirred from her first restful night in days. And the waking world thought to welcome her by tearing into the calm with a familiar ache. _Falon'Din, please, guide them_ , she mouthed in a wordless prayer each morning that the world would not let her forget. The clawed-out hollow in her chest still _seared_ , and the heavy nothingness left in her oozed with every breath.

But the strength she mustered, _scraped_ together was finally enough.

She turned her attention to the stairwell tucked in the corner of her chambers; the memories of yesterday danced in her head. Her eyes followed the banister as it sloped and vanished beneath the ledge, bathed in the light of dawn. Flecks of gold caught against its pristine, polished columns. _Gold, just like_ —

She paused. It was so easy to compare it to his hair. But to Letheia it was gold like his words, _his heart._ Brilliant, cherished and precious. To be reminded that she need not endure alone. To have her doubts assuaged by the man she had grown to care for.

In that moment, it was worth everything.

There was nothing he said that she had not tried to soothe herself with before, and yet when _he_ had spoken them, she had gilded the faded parts of herself with his earnest assurances. Then came the words he carried from the people of Skyhold. From her friends. Worried, _always_ worried for their Inquisitor. They saw how mortal her grief had made her, that underneath the epithets they cloaked and crowned her with was a woman who had lost her family. _A tale that resonates with far too many_ , she thought.

She learned of the efforts made in her absence, in pursuing their leads, reminding her that the Inquisition was not helpless, but neither was she.

And so that morning the shifts she had worn were finally traded in for her favored coat, white and immaculate. The forefront of her thoughts were no longer pleas for her heart to mend quicker.

They were of her duty as Inquisitor.

* * *

 

Heads turned and eyes followed as Letheia walked the main hall once more. She had anticipated attention, but not the sort that was cast from a distance. A greeting or two (and little else) was all she had received as she passed. Perhaps the shock of her reemergence was too much. Too much except for one, perhaps, who had walked directly onto her path to meet her, his mouth lazily curled in a half-smile.

"Varric," she beamed.

"The Inquisitor walks among us," he spread his arms in a sweeping gesture. "How are you holding up?"

"Well enough to be here and not locked up in my tower, at least."

"You sure about that?" he asked quietly. "You know, technically, no one could call you out if you barricaded yourself in."

She half chuckled and nodded, _yes I'm sure_ , and he offered his sympathies.

Her weariness ebbed in Varric's presence. He spoke with a characteristic levity that slipped her back into an older disposition, before everything that had happened. The more they spoke, the more she realized how much she had needed the company.

"Hey. You should probably check in with the others. Let them know, you know?" He gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. "I'm sure they'll want to see you in the flesh, too."

"Believe me, I think I _need_ to see them."

Passing the depths of her mourning in solitude was what she had needed once, but her heart yearned to thaw.

* * *

 

Letheia had a particular order of business sorted out in her head when she left Varric's side. She had hoped to boost the Inquisition's morale, both _theirs and hers,_ with her visits.

It was of course, all thrown into disarray the minute she realized how quickly word of her reappearance had traveled. In fact, it happened as soon as she had descended the last of the steps into the courtyard. She had steeled herself with the intent to first approach the Right Hand of the Divine when, out of nowhere, Iron Bull slung his arm— heavy as it looked, like it was chiseled out of stone— around her shoulders and caught her.

"Glad to see you up and about, boss," he said.

Her shoulders relaxed once recognition set in.

"As am I, Bull," she smiled and patted his arm.

"Come on, boss. Come in for a drink." He tilted his head towards the tavern, nudging her along.

"Is it... really wise to offer a round of drinks to someone in mourning ?" Letheia raised an eyebrow at him. "It just seems ill-advised."

"Eh. It's just to unwind. But if you want, we'll give you two drinks, and no more," finally he lifted his arm off her. "Anyway, I've _never_ seen you drink a third. I think you've got this under control."

It was no secret that Letheia drank sparingly. She frequented the Herald's Rest for a chat, though usually less for the company and more for the information. Invitations had been extended to her before, but this was the first time she felt the need to say yes.

* * *

 

The unexpected burn had caught in her throat and gave her a start, twisting her face into a grimace. Unpleasant drinks were definitely not part of her plan.

“We couldn’t have started with wine?” She rasped.

Iron Bull laughed, and all but downed his drink with an unbelievable ease. It was a trick she could never fathom. At the very least, he had been correct about her firmly adhering to her limit— if only because this time the drink had tasted so foul.

He brandished his cup in the air, and a passing barmaid with a flagon approached.

“And where’s the fun in drinking like an Orlesian? No offense, Laidy.”

The strawberry blonde barmaid chuckled as she poured him more to drink.

“None taken, but I’m not so sure the Herald shares your definition of fun.” Laidy smiled apologetically at her.

"Oh, no, it's fine," Letheia said, with tears in her eyes.

"Alright, alright, we'll get you your wine. Don't look so tortured."

"I'll take care of that," the barmaid said as she passed. "It's good to see you again, Your Worship. You have my condolences."

_You are not alone in this. Know that the Inquisition stands with you._

Cullen's words echoed and wrapped her in a warmth that seeped to every inch of her skin. Or perhaps it was the alcohol.

"Thank you, Laidy," She smiled. "I take it you've looked after Bull while I was away?"

"On occasion," he admitted.

"Always," she called out, her voice tinted at the edges with laughter. It always reminded Letheia of spring flowers.  She was such a far cry from the uncertain woman once standing before Skyhold's gates.

Letheia hoped to make the same change, little by little. The silence that had filled her days made her aware that the tavern was brimming with life, and music and chatter filled the air. Death had made Letheia so keenly aware of life.

“Bull, do you mind if I stepped away for a bit?” She eyed their resident bard, a permanent fixture of their tavern.

“Songbird’s gotta sing," he gave a lazy shrug. "Just don’t forget your wine after.”

She mouthed her thanks and finally, she got to set her supposed drink aside (that reminded her more of the varnish Blackwall had used) and walked over.

“Inquisitor,” Maryden greeted. Her head dipped slightly in reverence. “I’ve heard the news. I hope you have been well.”

“I will be. Though, a song would lift my spirits better, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Well, if this would help, I would be honored to play for you. What will it be?” Her fingers stilled the strings she had been strumming at effortlessly until then.

“Well, do you remember the first Dalish song I had taught you?”

“It’s a lovely song.” Maryden plucked the first few notes at the strings.

Letheia’s heart wrenched. It reminded her of her days in the lush forests and the songs of birds in the wind, when her clan sang it as they huddled around a fire. She remembered the laughter and contentment she had felt, and she taught Maryden the song for her to play as she sang it whenever she missed home. But now Skyhold is her only home. She managed to cast a glance at Iron Bull who raised his cup to her. A gesture of encouragement, no doubt.  It soothed her so she smiled back.

“Anytime you’re ready, Your Worship.”

She nodded, and moved out to the center. The beginning of the song was enough to hush the tavern into stillness as they listened. She never thought her own voice was particularly commanding, but in song she commanded all the attention. Her singing was sweeter than when she spoke, and Keeper Deshanna once told her it was a cool breeze on a summer day. Letheia bared her heart before all the patrons.

The pain in her voice was fresh, still fresh, but everyone saw that there was hope amid the melancholy.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Letheia has everyone's support and I hope that came across! I had a particular song in mind called Medhel an Gwyns for the last scene, it's lovely, give it a listen if you can.


	5. Halla

A low, distant humming accompanied Letheia's thoughts as she stared out the window, out into the cloudless blue suspended over an animated courtyard. A flurry of colors moved about— heralding the arrival of some manner of supplies, no doubt.

The sights below were once cause for her to draw the curtains at the slightest disturbance. Noise played no part in her decision; it simply felt _wrong_ to look at a world so bright, so vivid when it had been drained grey for her. But the world was in color again.

_And it began in gold._

The droning noise stopped as soon as the thought came to her and warped into something else entirely with an alarming clarity that resembled speech.

"Daydreaming, are we?"

Letheia tensed. She felt rooted in place, all while her response scrambled to make sense of itself in her head.

"Admiring the view," she finally offered, a little too firmly. "I never tire of Skyhold."

"Ah, but you do tire of my rambling," he said.

_Rambling?_

The sound of the book Dorian had snapped shut echoed. The tower’s occupants seemed relatively unconcerned, for the most part.

 _Oh_.

They _were_ talking about a particular Tevinter spell. Her mind was not one to wander so carelessly, but with luck, he missed the realization dawning on her face as she kept her back turned to him.

"And here I thought to regale you with the exclusive knowledge I possess,” he said, feigning offense.

“Forgive me, Dorian. Perhaps another time. It’s been… a long day.”

That, at least, had been the truth. The exhaustion must have crept onto her voice, as he conceded, muttering, _oh_ , _alright, another time_ and slid the book back— judging from the shuffling she had heard— into its place on the shelf. It was barely three hours past midday, and she had, in all likelihood, already walked every path in Skyhold _twice_ attending to developments made in her absence.

“Hmm, yes, Inquisitor Letheia just _admiring_ the view,” the way he dragged the syllables on accusingly forced Letheia to finally shift her attention to him. He leaned on the wall opposite hers and peered through the window.

His eyebrow quirked.

“You know, it's really unlike you to suddenly space out in the middle of a conversation, Letheia. I ought to be offended, but your fascination with the ‘environs’ fascinates _me_ .” The amusement practically dripped from his words as he met her gaze. “Especially when the view just _happens_ to include the Commander’s tower.”

It seemed their definitions of the word ‘view’ had intersected after all. By all rights, her interest should not have been so remarkable. It was only natural that two fully capable adults might share an attraction.

And yet the fluttering at the pit of her stomach made her feel like a child caught red-handed.

She broke eye contact with Dorian, with a sudden, newfound interest in the books on the shelves. It was all she could do to avoid wavering under his curiosity.

“Your focus on the field is impressive— and a little frightening, frankly— so, allow me my interest in seeing the Herald of Andraste daydream. It chips away at that seemingly invincible armor you have on."

"Er, well, it’s… not really a secret. I know people talk,” she said, in an attempt to be nonchalant about it, tracing a book’s spine.

"Oh, people _do_ talk, and they talk about _so_ many things. Spend enough time with him, and even what Cole says isn’t _that_ cryptic _.”_ He chuckled airily.

She noted that she would need a word with their resident spirit soon.

“I do hope you’re not getting the wrong ideas. Your phrasing worries me.” Letheia’s nose scrunched up.

They had not done anything noteworthy. Did their status as the Inquisitor and the Commander warrant so much interest? The question had been rhetorical, but a voice at the back of her head gave a response she did not like.

“Well, we could always compare notes. It would enlighten–”

“Inquisitor?”

A young scout all but materialized behind them and held a neatly folded note out to Letheia.

“The Ambassador says it’s urgent,” the scout said. It was a summons to the war room.

The timing was all too fortuitous. She quietly praised the Creators for any part they had played in it.

“Another time then. Duty calls,” she smiled at Dorian, almost apologetically. _Almost._

“So it does,” Dorian called out as she rounded the corner. “Enjoy the view!”

Any relief she had walking away was swiftly replaced by the feeling that the victory had not been hers.

 

* * *

  

The plans that ravaged the future into a hellscape had long been set into motion, and with each passing hour, were drawing closer to completion.

The opportunity to forestall them had presented itself, however, in the form of a grand fête at the Winter Palace. It was a chance that allowed them to get close to Empress Celene, but one that led them directly into the viper’s pit. As far as Letheia was concerned, the plan lacked elegance and demanded considerable risk. The nature of the assassination was, after all, shrouded in mystery, and gathering the key members of the Inquisition may invite their collective demise— The Temple of Sacred Ashes showed it was not beyond the realm of comprehension.

And yet, there was little room left for hesitation or subtlety; none of their messages had reached the Empress herself.

Their personal appearance, Leliana warned, would add another dimension to their efforts and restrict their movement according to the rules of The Grand Game.

The Orlesian dignitaries they had received at Skyhold were already something of a puzzle to Letheia. They always spoke in carefully composed praises that never quite amounted to simple flattery, and they jealously guarded the true nature of their motives. In a reversal of roles, the Inquisition, in this instance, would have to court the Orlesians instead. And an entire palace full of men and women of rank and import, each with their own hidden agendas? Navigating it was dizzying to imagine.

Whatever disagreements they had with the approach, it was unanimously decided that failure was not an option they could afford.

With the council dismissed to make arrangements as necessary, Letheia lingered in the war room.

Cullen, of course, remained, having sensed her apprehension throughout their meeting. Leliana closed the door behind her, but Letheia could have sworn she caught the remnants of a knowing— _of course, it was knowing—_ smirk. As the footsteps faded down the hall, Letheia loosened her posture and gave him a weak smile.

“Somehow, the idea of playing along with Orlesians for an entire evening makes me more nervous than if we’d just stormed the palace.” She sighed, prodding the marker they had left on the map.

“You and me both,” confessed Cullen.

“There’s a lot hanging in the balance, and I want to make sure this is the right path.”

 _This time._ She could not say it aloud, but she knew her intent was clear when he relaxed considerably. He circled the war table to her side.

“It’s the most direct one, for certain. Precautions are being made, but this is our best chance,” his usual tone of voice softened, as it often did when they were alone. Her hand found his in response.

“If it means anything,” his voice dropped barely above a whisper. “You know I will be there.”

“Sharing my discomfort, you mean?” she teased.

“I’m afraid I can only offer to commiserate in this instance.”

A half-chuckle had found its way to her lips, and he followed suit with a slow smile.

The moment that had passed between them inspired him to lead her by the hand into an embrace she so willingly obliged. Furs bristled against her as she lifted her chin to plant a kiss on his jaw and gloved fingers brushed the hair from her forehead for him to return the gesture in kind. They stole little moments where they could, and it had been no exception.

“I’m glad to find you’re in better spirits, Letheia.”

“I suppose I simply needed time to sort out the worst of the grief,” she said. “Time, and the right words.”

Cullen squeezed her hand fondly and hesitated a moment before he slipped from the embrace, warmth leaving with him.

“As much as I wish we had the time _now_ , preparations are in order. And I have no doubt I am keeping you from your responsibilities as well.”

Letheia took in a deep breath, understanding his meaning full well, however apparent it was that they wished to linger.

“Of course, Commander,” her response was devoid of the usual formality in the presence of others and had in its place, affection.

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth before he reined it in. With a step forward, he brought her hand to his lips and bade farewell with equal sweetness.

“Inquisitor,”

He held her hand a moment longer.

 

* * *

 

“A ball,” Letheia repeated, settling into the chair across Josephine. “An _Orlesian_ ball.”

The Ambassador looked up from the letter she had been composing, evidently surprised by her appearance.

“Oh, Inquisitor, you’re still here?”

“I’m a little worried,” she admitted.

“Do not fret so much,” Josephine soothed, setting her quill aside. “You are a thoughtful woman, and if these past few months have been any indication, I firmly believe you will be able to handle this with care.”

Letheia blew out a breath, grinning nervously. “You put a lot of faith in me, Josephine.”

“Only because I have seen what you are capable of,” she smiled back. ”Though, if you need advice, I will be happy to share what I know of Orlais.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Dealing with Orlesians wanting something from us is one thing, but trying to blend in while in full regalia is another thing entirely.”

“Actually, Inquisitor…” her voice trailed off in a way that made Letheia rightfully nervous. “ _You_ will be wearing something a little more… Orlesian.”

“Beg pardon?”

“You are the face of the Inquisition, and all eyes will be on you. We may be a military organization, but we need to show them that, even with your power, you are equally capable of finesse to win them over. And for that to happen, you’ll need to dress the part.”

Letheia closed her mouth, which had fallen agape at some point.

“I’ve already spoken with Vivienne. Strangely... it seemed like she _already_ had a list of tailors prepared.” Josephine continued, studying Letheia. “But in your case… perhaps the latest fashions…? No, no, we’ll need something tailored especially for you.”

“We’re using our resources… for a lavishly tailored dress? What’s wrong with the uniform we have?”

“It’s an investment,” she corrected. “A good impression of the Inquisitor could expedite our attempts to get close to Celene.”

Letheia was confident in combat and commanded spells without hesitation, but the same could not be said of her for gatherings in high society. It was a foreign concept, and reminded her how needlessly complex _shemlen_ made their dealings. Orlais was the pinnacle of what one considered a vulgar display of wealth, and their clothing, however elegant, seemed to offer more restraint than comfort. The idea of being unceremoniously stuffed into one was not a prospect she looked forward to, but one she begrudgingly accepted might improve their odds.

“If... we _are_ getting something made, might I make a request?”

“Of course, what did you have in mind? Something in silks, perhaps, or is there a color you might prefer?”

“I want it…” She wavered, then steeled her resolve. “I want it to look Dalish.”

“Dalish?” The surprise had been apparent on Josephine’s face, no matter how she stilled her voice. “Inquisitor, you understand the… plight of elves in Halamshiral, I hope. It could prove scandalous.”

“I am already an elf by appearance, Ambassador.”

“I understand your feelings, but, sticking out in such a way might not help our cause. Were it a less delicate situation...”

It was not as though she did not see the sense in Josephine’s words. The mission took precedence over everything, and she felt foolish for holding onto the request but the compulsion was too strong to shake. _It's for them,_ she thought.

“Please. One or two things, and I will leave it for you and Vivienne to decide on how to make it as appealing to the Orlesians as possible. While I do not intend to walk into the Winter Palace barefoot and clad in leather, I do not want to shy away from who I am. It’s all I have left.”

Letheia watched Josephine’s heart drop, but it had been enough to sway her. She weighed and considered the options before finding some sort of compromise.

“As you wish. We could incorporate _some_ elements, I’m sure. Perhaps something involving halla?”

“Precisely what I’d had in mind,” Letheia nodded and mouthed her thanks.


End file.
